


Come in Waves

by sahdah



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Multi, NSFW, PWP, is it really a threesome if it's with your time traveling husband, time traveler's wife au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25065214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahdah/pseuds/sahdah
Summary: Soul Cael Evans can't seem to keep it together. He suffers from a unique affliction-- time dissonance. A Time Traveler's Wife AU of sorts.
Relationships: Soul Evans/Maka Albarn/Soul Evans
Kudos: 12





	Come in Waves

His eyes snap open like the universe has whispered his name. Whatever dream or memory he’d been having is gone like the fireflies come high summer. He’s wide awake in a tick of a second hand, heart hammering in his chest. 

Time traveling is one helluva mind fuck. 

Taking a deep breath, his lungs protest as he tries to process the darkness. The seconds tick. And an eternity passes before his eyes adjust and Soul begins to feel the vice in his chest loosen ever so slowly as he exhales, trying to ignore the shaking. The post traumatic effect of his condition renders simple acts like dreaming into anxiety inducing events when his sleep cycle glitches.

Dreaming.

Tonight it was a dream, not time travel. Even so, he’d resigned himself to his fate long ago. At some point would’ve gone nuts from the dissociation of it had it not been for _her_. His best friend; wife; his partner.

Maka Albarn-Evans lays beside him in their bed, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling with a soft puff of breath on every fourth exhale like clockwork. The thundering in his chest gradually calms as he matches his breaths to the beat of her steady metronome. 

  
Soul reaches out a hand to brush her bangs away from her eyes. She’s the reason he has courage to face his many disappearances through the unfairness of it all. The time he leaves her alone, the time he steals from her, it’s slowly killing him. His only comfort is that some version of himself always shows up.

Tonight is no exception. Distracted, he rubs a hand over his sternum. Acutely aware of each thud of his heart, he looks over to the clock on his nightstand to see what time it is. 

In some ways he’s been anxiously awaiting this night for a long time, and yet, and yet time keeps on ticking. It’s caught up to him, the inevitability strangely comforting in a way. Except for the part he dreads, confronting a past version of himself who has yet to gain his perspective or experience. 

Everyone else on this plane of existence has the luxury of leaving their past firmly behind them. Soul not so much. His memories from his early twenties are vague, but he remembers her, remembers _them_ , remembers sharing her with himself. Fuck it all. Feels himself grow hard in anticipation.

Beside him, Maka breathes deeply, but he moves his hand as she stirs and shifts closer to him. Adjusting to better suit her angle, his calloused thumb continues to brush ambiguous patterns on her ashy blonde hair. 

Before Maka, he couldn’t do this. Couldn’t face this. Before Maka he didn’t understand what courage meant, let alone bravery. He was a boy, lost and scared.

It’s strange, even with his sensitivity to time, that he actually lives his life linearly. Because so does Maka, albeit in the traditional timeline shared by all. She’s experienced him in many different times and eras; she’s known him her entire life. For Soul it’s difficult to fathom the complexity of how his black blood affects his time dissonance, but he's eternally grateful for her, the constant in his quantum equation.

Maka is now thirty-six, they’ve been together for sixteen years-- since college. Married for twelve and half and each day with her is a new surprise.

A small, strong hand works its way under his shirt and she pulls into him, closer, nuzzling, mewing softly into his side. 

Soul’s mouth presses into a thin line to keep the grin at bay. Tonight has been a long time coming. They’ve discussed this, ages ago, but they did discuss it. She’d once asked him if he’d ever… _well, you know_...with himself…

Reckless and cocky. He’d wanted to be cool about it, but his face betrayed him, turning as red as his eyes. A cat with a fat mouse in her clutches wouldn’t have been nearly as pleased as Maka, outing him like that. Highly curious, her face went supernova with that tidbit of carnal knowledge-- “So you have!” 

“Well, wouldn’t you?” 

Green eyes blinking. Head tilting to the side, considering, neck blossoming into a glowing beacon of sun-fire red. “What… Exactly what…” 

It wasn’t hard to see her brain spinning into a myriad of possible scenarios with her face a rainbow of colors. Only then did Soul attempt to gloss over the fact that his brother had walked in on him jacking themselves off, once. Maybe a handful of times. Luckily for Soul, Wes was older and had come out long before Soul’s bizarre time quirk had manifested at the onset of puberty, so his big brother only warned him to be more discreet. 

Soul doesn’t recall the finer details of what came next, other than he was fucked so soundly he was hearing colors. Not that he got the chance to bask in the phenomenon because his post coital bliss was derailed by questions, so many questions. Theoretical questions. Until Soul cocked an eyebrow, pinched a pert nipple, and asked her point blank, with more courage than he actually felt, if she wanted a threesome. A question he hadn't dared to ponder let alone ask in over a decade. 

Green fire met his mortified yet amused gaze buoyed by burning, dusty red cheeks. “But--” He takes the hand she’d used to smack away his pinches, interweaving their fingers to kiss the tips of hers. “--Is it really a threesome if it’s with my own husband?”

“I mean…” Stopped him dead in the water there. Vigorously scrubbing a hand through his hair, he’d blown the remaining air left in his lungs through his frosty fringe then said the only thing that came to mind at the time. “I’d follow you into the dark.” 

Their life together is a study in quantum entanglement. He does recall that his first time with her wasn’t her first time with him. It was a weird idea to wrap his mind around initially, but Maka assures him it was life-altering in the best way. Her words-- he still hasn’t lived it.

Performance anxiety is something anyone can suffer; wondering how they stack up against past lovers-- but not Soul. In this particular circle of hell, he tends to wonder if he’s ever lived up to himself, or rather when/if he will live up to himself. Anxiety gnaws at his mind. It hasn’t happened yet in his timeline and that begs the question, how fucking old was-- _shit_ \-- will he be when this does go down? 

He can’t process it. 

Gently disentangling her arm from his side, Soul gets out of bed carefully and pads quietly to the balcony grateful for the coolness of the desert night air. Jeesuz fuck, he wishes he had a joint or something to back off the simmering waves of anxiety he’s trying to push down-- because the idea of him being some old shit fucking a much younger Maka makes his blood pressure fail. 

It’s jarring for him. All of it. He wishes it was a simple task to be straightforward and tell her how much it freaks him out, phasing from a timeline where he’s married to her into timelines before she’s old enough to piece it together. It took him a while to warm up to the idea of a relationship. And he still questions if she ever had the choice when it came to falling in love… with him.

The most recent version of her he's interacted with is still trying to make sense of why she’s been abandoned by her mother. If he hadn’t known her as long as he has he might have been fooled by that bright beaming smile. Undampened sunshine. But he does know her. Knows her heart had been shattered like thin ice over fathomless waters. Knows that his constant disappearances from her life only add to the strain of her already worn elastic heart. 

That version of Maka had been a force to reckon with. A youth with the determination to become perfection incarnate. She’d had the insatiable drive to live up to the flawed ideal, the pedestal she'd raised Marika Albarn to, her unattainable goal. He’d listened. She’d raged. And rightly so. What it came down to was her fear of not being worthy enough to return to. It took her a long time to move past that, to let go of the shame of perfectionism.

The first time he met her-- for a moment, he wished he wouldn’t have. 

His initial gut reaction to her approaching him at the university library was an alarming bell of _jailbait_. But, beyond the micro minis and combat boots there was a resilience, a depth of feeling that disarmed him-- backed by stubborn persistence. And he’d resisted, but eventually caved. 

Because that’s just who she is. Maka Albarn-Evans, five foot two inches, made of sass and steel, and he’s loved her since forever, but she has always been the one to make the first move. It had to be her choice, because by then she’d known him long enough to know he’d never forgive himself if for one second he’d felt like he took that choice away from her. 

As a younger version of himself, he was a sarcastic smooth shit when he'd agreed to tonight, . Not even pausing to consider repercussions. 

What does any of this say about him now? He is still the same flawed person he’s always been. Time feels as if it’s speeding up and slowing down. 

Dragging fresh night air deep into his lungs he gets it now, why he saw himself as such a boomer-- it’s because he is. Christ, he’s thirty-eight and about to fuck his wife with his twenty-four year old self. He’s earned the right to be a crotchety bastard.

Still a small bark of laughter escapes him. As mortified as he is at the flash of memory, he’s on _this_ side of the age divide now and it’s easier to laugh at himself. 

“What’s so funny?” A sleepy Maka murmurs next to his side, stifling a yawn as she rubs the heel of her palm on her cheek. She’s wearing his old Death University t-shirt and not much else.

“Uhh.” Rumination goes up in smoke. Soul gracefully chokes on air, wheezing as he tries to bury the flash of embarrassment. “Did I wake you?”

Rippling the moonlight with her hair, his wife shakes her head. “I woke up when you got out of bed.” Maka presses her warm body tightly against his side and he wraps his arms around her, drawing her in close. Her long, slow intake of breath rattles in his bones before she asks, “Are you leaving soon?” 

It’s a quiet question. One that splinters his heart. He hates leaving her, and he knows he’ll be gone before the sun rises. He’ll be back, he always returns to her and her siren call. “Not yet.” 

Her strong hands hold him tighter. 

He doesn’t deserve her strength, her unwavering courage. How has she put up with this her entire life? All Soul knows is the planets aligned and the deepest reaches of the space-time continuum were rent when fate put her in his path; that the only way their love is fair to the rest of the universe is that his affliction tears him away from her constantly. If it’s the price he has to pay to keep her, for her to keep him, he’ll pay it. Gladly-- for all time.

Snaking a hand down her back, he grabs her ass, pulling her greedily towards him. 

Deep within, his blood tingles with the madness -- he’s coming. But he still has her to himself for a few more precious seconds. Breathing her in deeply, he lowers his tall frame so he can trace the porcelain of her face with his nose as he trails kisses from her temple down to her lips. 

Her small gasp ignites him but he’s stubborn, determined to take this slow. “Are you sure?” he asks because he knows what’s coming although he’s distracted by her hands fisting into his hair as she holds him captive. When she doesn’t immediately respond he adds, "About tonight."

Still nothing. Willing his eyes open, he peeks at his wife who intently stares back. “About what?” she asks innocently. 

He’s transfixed by the starlight she radiates. This woman is going to be the death of him. 

Even with the omnipotent power of time travel, Soul Cael Evans can still be a Class A dumbass. Of course she has zero idea what’s coming. Maybe she doesn’t want to do this-- his body straightens as he pinches the bridge of his nose-- he knows for a fact the answer to that hypothetical question. 

While mind-numbing anxiety is hacking his processing power, Maka continues to observe him. A gentle finger traces the laugh lines she’s given him. “Soul, you’re being weird. Is everything okay?” 

Yes everything is fine _in theory._ However-- “In another minute or so, I’m going to materialize into the room.” It just hangs in the air, like its own ticking time bomb. Until he waves a hand vaguely towards the door. "Over there."

“Oh, okay.” Maka says, as if she doesn’t understand why this should be any different than any other time he’s ever materialized. Normally, he’ll go straight to the shower and then raid his drawers for some boxers and then after decimating the fridge will then crash on some couch. Or even in their own bed -- it is _his_ bed, too, after all. 

He repeats her last word, curling it into a drawn-up question. Clearly she doesn’t understand. His head drops with a long sigh.

His warm breath on her shoulder raises a wave of goosebumps. Cups her ass tightly, grinding his hip into her abdomen. Making his current status known. Inhaling deliberately, he grazes her neck with his teeth. Kissing her. Wondering if he’ll ever get enough of her taste. Rather than explain he focuses on the way she overwhelms his senses. 

He isn’t blind to the way she looks at his early college aged self. She flirts with _him_ more-- but maybe that’s because that twat -- yes he knows he’s dogging on himself -- can’t keep his shit together around her older, no fucks given anymore, self. Who is he kidding, he was a late bloomer when it came to sex; so was she. Not that it stops them from taking advantage of his strange timeline. And fuck, if Maka initiates it-- _well,_ he's yet to turn her down. 

Maka shudders in his arms, pushing away from his chest with a calculated look. “Soul… are you trying to turn me on?”

His tall frame remains bent like a pine under the weight of snow, frozen under her gauging expression. “Maybe,” he breaths, face breaking into a goofy side grin. “Is it working?” Sometimes he’s terrible at this.

“No,” she lies, a begrudging smile betraying her. Behind the admonishment all the gears in Maka’s head are spinning, crunching data, green eyes blown wide awake. “Wait…” Maka sees through him as he patiently waits for her to complete her process. “Tonight?!”

Leaning away from her, he counts the seconds it takes her big brain to make the connections. Although he can sense a mix of emotions, she still manages to relax enough that he can lave at her neck, his half-chub growing.

“I get you…” He made it to ten, but dutifully hums into the void she leaves. “Both…?” This hum is guttural. “Tonight,” she whispers in a way that has his body tingling electrically, finally arriving at the point.

“Only if that’s what _you_ want,” he says, in what he hopes is a neutral tone.

The skin of her neck is soft, unresisting to his sharp teeth as he nips at her pulse, his fingers toying with her ass and inching along her naked crack towards her slit. 

Her breath grows shallow and his dick twitches in his tenting sweatpants.

“A chance to have you twice over… at the same time...” Maka whispers, the curiosity is there in her hushed tone. Outside the sounds of the night air intensify as he waits for her to finish her thought. “Is it bad that I really want it?”

In the depths of her eyes he sees himself reflected if only for a second, understands that what she really wants validation. Or maybe reassurance that her desires are not abhorrent. He ponders this for a moment, remembering his tongue on her clit. Remembering the way she shook, fingers locked with his hair. 

“It isn’t bad,” he says. Nothing she wants is bad. 

A flustered sound is followed by her shaking her head with a fleeting pressed-lip smile before she looks up at him, her eyebrows knit together. Concern clouds the clarity of her green eyes. “But, are _you_ okay with it?” 

Why Maka always, without fail, considers his feelings above her own is something that is beyond him. As far as he’s ever been concerned, he’s always been there with her in one capacity or other. For instance their wedding night, the only thing that made abandoning her bearable was knowing he came back to her. That he was with her. That she didn’t have to spend that night alone. 

Even now, the only demon he’s ever had to face is himself. Can he be jealous of himself? Can he cheat with the different versions of himself? He doesn’t think it’s possible. After all, it’s always been him, and it will always be her. 

In this moment, he knows he’s hers in every capacity that she wants or needs him. “I’m _fine_.” The words brush her neck, the pulse of her heart is steady against his lips. 

“Is it weird, though?” Morbid curiosity drives her questions, but her lust for him drives her hands, slipping beneath his waistband and tracing distracting patterns maddeningly shy of his pulsing cock. 

“Hard to explain,” he finally says. “Is it weird when you touch your face?” he asks, observing the fluttering lashes framing her green eyes. His fingers trace the stardust freckles, constellations he knows more intimately than the ones in the night skies. 

“I mean, no,” she says, and it isn’t difficult to tell she is not convinced. Or maybe she too is distracted. 

His fingers trace the rim of her slit ever so slowly, feeling her clenching her walls. Her neck tastes of sunshine. “Does it feel weird when you touch yourself here?” he asks quietly, slipping his finger inside and taking deep pleasure at her unexpected gasp.

Her eyes are closed, no doubt deliberating while he moves his finger in and out until she finally responds, “No.” 

Taking the lobe of her ear between his lips and pressing them together, he curls his finger to trace her rim more deeply and asks “How does it feel?” 

Strong arms cling to his neck tightly. “It feels good…” her words fade.

“Is that all?” Soul asks pressing his finger further inside where she clenches around him.

“You're right. It doesn’t feel weird. It feels...” she doesn’t complete her thought, but the moan that escapes her is answer enough. 

Soul straightens ever so slightly bringing her with him onto her tippy toes. “It’s just my body, Maka--” younger, but it still belongs to him and he’d been curious once, too. In the end it's only a matter of perspective “-- it isn’t weird for me.” 

Maka sways in his arms, her slickness overriding his senses as he continues to play with her from behind, fingers slipping in and out. The sound of her content sighs play in his mind in a feedback loop. 

Goddamn does he want her-- Soul picks up his wife, and she wraps her long legs around him as he carries her back to their bed. Oblivious to the world around him.

“Fuck me.” His voice comes from the vicinity of the bedroom door. “Uhhhh, should I find another place to crash?”

Maka squeaks, head whipping towards his voice. " _Soul!_ " 

He’s on the verge of telling himself to ‘ _Fuck off’_ when Maka unwraps her legs and moves to slide to the floor, so he lets her go. Now he can officially say he’s cock blocked himself, brilliant.

Christ, he’s a baby. Face to face with his ten year challenge in the flesh.

"Uh. Hey…" his younger self says, naked and uncertain of where he should be. A third wheel of his own creation and yet, Soul observes with mild amusement, still strangely turned on by having stumbled into this particular moment in time. 

Maka turns back to him, almost hesitant. But he gives her a half grin, always filled with too sharp teeth. He never gets tired of being greeted by her. 

Not many get the chance to see their wife go up to a younger version of themselves with a face burning bright as the sun. And he knows how his naked body responds to her. Feels the heat of his uncool embarrassment all the way from here. 

She stops before him, always considering. "Um, hi." Soul detects the wavering in her voice, that flustered note because of him. "Do you, uh, want pants or something?" 

Smug, that’s how he feels right now. Although his face is probably saying something different. It is. He knows it when he catches a sidelong look from his poltergeist of persons past. “Hey.” 

The barbed look Maka shoots him makes him flinch because his tone is all wrong. So much so, he isn’t even addressed by his old self. That little shit gives him the look he saves for any of Wes’ unsolicited advice. Okay, yeah he deserves that. 

That being said, when Soul _the younger_ turns to Maka with a grin, it still rubs him the wrong way. “What’s wrong with the old fart--” 

Okay! That’s it. Of course that twat isn’t fazed by him in the slightest, fucking time continuum. 

“--Something crawl up your ass and die, old man?” 

It’s rhetorical. Rhetorical. And he shouldn't rise to the bait-- “No.” 

“Couldn’t tell, you look like you have a stick up--”

"Hey now." Maka steps between them, and he doesn't miss the way her eyes rove over _his_ shoulders. Soul isn't salty. "It isn’t that. He’s trying to do something sweet for me.” 

If Soul hadn’t known her his entire life, he might have missed the expression, but she’s remembered something.

“Actually,” Maka says, walking up to the only one of them dressed for the party. “I know when you-- where you were at…” Her face has that look of determination that Soul knows all too well.

And the memory hits him like a Mack truck. _Shit!_

“The Black Room.” Maka says it, mirroring his thoughts at the same time. No wonder he was hooked like a prized fish. Although, any of his past selves can materialize from any number of days or events, past present or future. He knows first hand she's not wrong, Maka’s intuition is on a level. 

Oh sweet baby Jesus. That was the night he’d met Elizabeth Thompson-- Maka’s best friend. Maka's-- _You're dating a man who can be at two places at once and you haven't been double teamed yet, what is_ **wrong** _with you -_ best friend Liz. 

Admittedly that night he'd been intrigued by the notion -- albeit wishing it was two of her versus two of him, but beggars can’t be choosers -- until Maka mercilessly shot down their inception train. 

Before their wife, baby Soul fidgets uncomfortably. “Uh, yeah.” 

“So…um,” she says, looking at him through her lashes. “I--" her voice quavers for all of a second before her back straightens and she shoots a look straight through his soul. "I changed my mind.” 

Soul wants to laugh, if only to stop himself from snapping a picture of his befuddled expression of mortification; hand paused awkwardly on its way to diffuse the built up anxiety through his hair. 

“Buh... you changed your mind.” The kid repeats dumbly, standing there trying not to embarrass himself.

It’s clear to Soul the guy is completely lost. His not quite wife, has just info-bombed his young ass by telling him she changed her mind about considering a threesome... after shooting him down less than two hours ago. 

Blushing, Maka hums, looking at him through her lashes, "If you still want to?"

Young Shit isn't ready, hell even _he_ isn't ready. It’s a total mind trip-- and he gets it. Poor fucker doesn’t know what’s coming. It’s better that way; he’d’ve been mortified to know.

The irony. He's just arrived from a moment in time where Maka shot down an idea that, fourteen years ago, had made her balk, and directly into a time in which they've both grown, had their relationship tested, and have come out stronger on the other side. Maka evolved. 

Sure he'd talked big game that night in The Black Room, but the truth is he'd had no idea. No idea that sometimes you should be careful what you wish for.

“Holy shit -- you changed your mind about _that._ ” The awed whisper carries through the quiet room. "I mean yeah, I'm cool."

_Fool_. Liar. Soul crosses his arms, grinning at his younger self, knowing he’s scared shitless and finding it fucking hilarious this time around. 

“You okay with this, old man?” 

Beneath the smooth apathy they both wear, Soul can feel the terror coursing through him. It all makes perfect sense now. He grins a wide-mouthed, sharp grin. “Sure I am.” You little shit. 

“Stop being so mean to yourself--” Maka places a hand over his erratic heart, and he blinks. He was so wrapped up in taunting himself that he hadn't noticed her come to him. Her hands hold his face, guiding his mouth to hers, but Maka's end goal isn't his lips. She trails kisses up his jaw until he feels her nip his earlobe. “--Besides," her whisper electrifies his body, "you only have yourself to blame for this. Be nice.” 

Only Maka can disarm him so completely with that smile. She walks backwards into the arms of his younger self, who’s still staring at him, daring him to come pry her away. 

Is she using him to make himself jealous? Pondering this sort of existential crisis shouldn’t be allowed. Besides, it’s...what are coherent thoughts? Hot. He's bothered. A little like watching porn, except he carries the internal memory files; he remembers the ghost of her touch, even as he's standing over here next to the bed. At one point he’d been in control of the arms that wrap around Maka's body as he’d given into kissing her neck. But he's never seen how her eyes flutter shut, how her body--

“Wait…” His previous iteration slowly pulls his lips away from her neck, and Soul wants to strangle him. “You’re not going to kick my ass when I see you again then, are you?” 

Cautious, he’d been cautious. Well, good for him. 

Maka turns in his arms to whisper. 

He doesn't need to be there to hear what she’s said because he remembers it clearly. _‘I think that maybe, since you’re pretty smart, you don’t pester me about it ever again.’_ And he never did. Not a peep. Sworn to secrecy if only by his own embarrassment. He’d returned home from this night a humbled Soul.

He doesn't say anything and instead takes her in his arms, running his hands down her back to cup her ass against his naked body. Soul’s hands tingle with short term and long term memory -- he knows how those curves feel. 

Soul drops his gaze to his tented pants. Fuck him. Fourteen years is a long time to gain perspective; the last time he'd been completely focused on her.

Rooted to the spot, he closes his eyes, amplifying his awareness of Maka, resonating with the sounds of her letting go. Of her scent mixing with his desire. 

_"Soul."_

It's as if he's coming out of a stupor, raising from watery depths and into a dream. He opens his eyes to see her contemplating him, his mouth on her creamy neck. Pavlov's dog has nothing on him; he can feel himself painfully hard in his sweats. 

She's connected to his soul. The look of pining and pleasure entraps him. It's criminal that she can look at him like that while his hands pull up the shirt she’s wearing over her head as Soul tries to readjust his dick in his pants. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

Breaking eye contact with him, she slowly pushes his younger self back to their bed. It's easy to ignore his body falling onto the bed and scooting towards the headboard, because he’s tracking Maka's naked ass as she crawls into the bed after him. It’s fun to watch Maka no longer chained to the insecurities that plagued her in her early college years.

He squeezes his shaft through his sweats, and if she keeps _that_ up, he’s gonna have his own issues to deal with. They have a chair-- the one where Maka reads during rainy days-- and he has half a mind to just sit there and jack off. It’s a lovely thought. One that flies out the window the moment he sees Maka’s lips connect with his tip. 

"Fuck me." It comes from his own mouth in stereo as version 1.0’s head falls back, his hands fisted in her hair. Soul’s own hand in his sweats, because he has the dick-weeping view of her ass in the air, and he wants to kiss her. He wants to eat her out. 

Two steps is all it takes before his fingertips graze the strong muscles of her legs. He runs his rough hands up to the backs of her knees, his thumbs kneading her muscles as he goes, and he's pretty sure there's precum all over the inside of his sweats, but he can't resist her. 

Soft skin glides silkily under his rough hands as he continues up her thighs, lingering on her hips, tugging her back to him gently; a low groan catches him off-guard as she bows her back and grazes his still clothed dick with her ass, warm and wet. Compressed air hisses out of his lungs. "Jeezus fuck."

Ashy fringe askew, Maka looks at him over her shoulder, lips swollen, freckles tinted in pink. "Why are you still dressed?" she asks.

"I'm not--" From the bed, he looks from her to Soul’s sweats. "Oh fuck. Right." Then groans as his head thunks on the headboard. Which shuts him up and leaves Maka grinning at him. 

"Don't worry about it," he says to his wife. Indicates with pointer finger by way of lazy circles that she should focus on what she's doing. This gets him a very pink tongue of retaliation that promptly licks his entire shaft before she-- 

His head falls to the side, entranced as he watches. So that's how she does that. 

He's distracted and drawn in. Her back is warm under his lips, and his tongue greedily tastes her as he works his way to her neck. "Maka, Imma kiss you."

The mouth around his cock pauses and she looks at him. Her eyes reflect pure sex, and she seems to hum _How, my mouth is busy?_

Soul slowly shakes his head and points to her ass.Eyes wide she shakes her head. But he nods and she moans around his cock. An idle hand rolls her nipple, waiting to move until she nods her head emphatically. 

His heart hammers as he takes her in, even the way her hands hold onto his waist is telling. How the fuck did he end up this lucky to be loved by such a woman? That she is his in any capacity, that she wants him like this? Like _that?_

The tips of his fingers feel electric, trailing from her shoulders and following the curve of her back until his hands are on her hips. Heart like an EDM baseline, he takes a knee before running his tongue where his fingers had been a few minutes prior. Maka’s sharp intake of breath would’ve sent him over the edge any other night--

_“Fuuuuck, Maka!”_

The grin spreads over his face-- oh shit, he remembers that particular nip. 

“Soul!” There’s the wet sound of his dick popping out of her mouth as she squeaks, “I’m so sorry, are you okay?” 

Golden, ashy hair takes flight as she whips her head back and glares at him over a sexy, sexy shoulder. He mouths, ‘What?’ as he shrugs nonchalantly.

Beyond Maka, other Soul props himself up on his elbows, bemused. “I’m good,” he says, but when he catches sight of the grin plastered on his face, Soul gets the full-on _fucking grow up_ expression that, up until this moment, had been reserved for Wes. It’s the madness that is himself attempting to go down on his wife while she’s going down on _him_ , that’s the issue here.

Look, if he’s the reason his own dick got nipped, he can’t be mad about it. In fact, it’s fucking humorous on this side of the time continuum. Soul ignores himself and indicates she should just get back to what she was doing before he got involved, but the way Maka’s face is burning bright and the taste of her on his tongue makes his blood sing like a synthwave. 

Besides, this is for her. This time when his mouth connects, she shudders, snaking a free hand back towards him. Soul soaring, noun not self, interlacing his fingers with hers she anchors him next to her knee. He’s shaking? His eyes screw shut, ears alight with the sounds of her pleasure, his own groans of satisfaction.He dials back his senses, concentrating on her scent on his lips; fuck he loves the way she feels. His mouth breaks into a wide grin -- she’d murder him if she knew she’s the reason he’s obsessed with eating salmon. 

The maddening way she squeezes his hand, the way her hips shake -- he lives for driving her over the edge this way. Don’t get him wrong, he fucking loves fucking her, but there’s just something that strokes his ego when her thighs are nearly crushing his head. 

Maka has always brought a sense of reason to the madness that plagues his unique condition. However in this moment the reverse is also true: she is the madness. Her hand kneads his, although she pulls her hips away from his mouth. 

He comes out of his Maka-induced stupor breathing hard. Soul follows suit wanting to suck, but she rockets forward the instant his lips make contact and she wrings his hand, her shins double-timing in a flustered flutter kick. 

_Fine._ Too much. He gets it, pressing his hand firmly over his throbbing erection. Pauses to catch his breath.

Instead of his tongue, he takes his middle finger into his mouth and runs his hand firmly over her hip, tracing her inner thigh before playing with her clit. Same reaction. Fuck, he’ll be a good boy. So he resorts to kissing her back, nipping and sucking at the unmarred skin and absorbing the sounds of her losing herself. 

That he has a front row seat to her getting off on getting him off is something he’s never actually witnessed at least not from this particular angle. His blood rushes in his head -- he’s going to blow his load just watching her. Not cool.

How? How is it that she can do that with her mouth?! His eyes travel from where her mouth is connected to his dick to his fingers twisted into the golden ash of her hair-- his lifeline. Screwing his eyes shut, he takes a breath, his forehead finding her shoulder blades. He focuses on the feel of her glistening skin on his fingertips. Somewhere in his awareness he feels her arch back, her head caressing his. Soul’s convinced she was a cat in another life. He needs to get with it because he can feel the weight of his mood dragging at him. 

Opening an eye, he sees he isn’t alone in this assessment. Anytime he crosses his own path, they’ve learned to just let sleeping dogs lie. There’s shit they carry from their past and there’s shit he knows is coming, but there’s no point in dwelling on that fact. Silver lining? Only he can really enjoy the idea of telling himself to fuck off in real time.

Blowjob forgotten, Maka shifts around in his arms; soft hands take his face into them. “Hey?” Deep green eyes pierce his soul before she silently asks if he’s okay with her lips.

Warm hands leave heat trails down his shoulders and over his chest, pressing into the scar as they snake down to his sweats, pushing them down until they’re caught by gravity and end up around his ankles. 

Her lips touch his tip before she looks up at him through her lashes. Oh fuck him, the visual of her doing this is still fresh in his mind, but she’s hijacked all of his other senses and all he can do is focus on the wet warmth of her tongue running down the entire length of his shaft. His legs threaten to turn to jelly.

It’s her giggle that has his eyes fluttering open. “Huh?”

Maka smiles with his tip pressed to her lips. “You know, you both do that,” she says. That’s it, nothing else.

His lungs expand as he takes a deep breath and looks at his hands covered in the silk of her tresses. Jeezus, he’s a predictable sack of unoriginality. “Oh shit-- my bad.” 

This exchange is the opening his younger self needs. Sneaking in and kissing her back until she turns towards him. Not that Soul can blame him-- he’s since learned to take his time when time isn’t doing him dirty, but as a younger man, impulse control wasn’t something he’d quite mastered. 

That bastard coaxes her gently to his mouth because if there’s something Maka can’t resist, it’s what he does when he kisses her. And her moan fills his mind-- that’s right, _he_ still has his tongue ring! 

Soul can still feel where the piercing has long since closed. Man, what a prick. _His_ hands are rocking her hips, grinding into her while _his_ mouth laves on her neck, but it’s her eyes that find his before snapping to the dick grasped tightly in his hand. The look on her face makes him twitch, but her eyes are wide as he tugs on his erection. Mouth open, Maka sucks in a breath that draw him to her. 

She catches his finger tracing her face with her teeth, and he thumbs her bottom lip gently. He sympathetically synchronizes his hand with her tempo, the sensation of her tongue running along his fingers amplified in his stroke. 

Her body shudders, but she refuses to break eye contact even as her hand snakes between her legs and grips _his_ cock, holding him in place as she pushes herself onto his shaft. A full body shiver goes through Soul, her mouth the livewire short circuiting his capacitor and he’s not sure where he is in space and time anymore.

The sounds of, “Fuck Maka, wait wait wait…” barely register since he’s entranced by the way she’s just staring at him. Followed by a morose “No no no no… Fuck me.”

Thank all fucks that his younger self was too embarrassed about blowing his load prematurely to see how fucking hot and bothered Soul was just standing next to the bed, fingers in Maka’s mouth and tugging his own dick. 

“Ohmygod, noooo.” He’s devastated, and Soul can’t spare him much sympathy, but better him than… well… him. 

Blinking, Maka releases him from her spell and he promptly stuffs knuckles into his mouth, shutting his eyes only to be confronted by the illuminated memory of Maka in full control of the power she holds over him. Holy shit. But her words fill his mind.

“Soul, baby please, don’t be embarrassed.” 

Soft hands hold his young face where she kisses him. She’s soothing his bruised ego. Goddamn it, why is she this good to him? He knows her, and he knows she didn’t get off, and yet she’s soothing his embarrassment. Fuck him, he loves her. 

“Hey,” he whispers and watches as her skin prickles with goosebumps as he sits on the edge of the bed. He reaches for her hand to gently pull her away. “I’ll be fine, just give me a minute.” He has unfinished business with his wife. 

The look she gives his prone self is one of compassion, but she turns to search his face, questioning. He just bites his lip. “He got off, you haven’t.” 

Her cheeks burn bright.

“You should be embarrassed,” he teases. “That was your fault.” Capturing her face, he crushes his lips to hers, his ego soothed at the surprised gasp she emits. 

Pulling away from him, Maka mouths, “I’m sorry…” 

“Don’t be.” It’s a growl, one filled with a dark promise. “I haven’t had my turn…” With her hand in his, he guides her off the bed to where she’s standing between his legs;he pulls her tit into his mouth and relishes in the fact that _her_ hands are now fisted into his hair. 

Now would be a great time for his third-wheeling ass to just disappear, but that’s not the way this ends-- he knows he’s the one that will be gone by morning. Resolving to be the better man, Soul nips her tit and receives a soft smack to his shoulder. His tongue flicks her nipple, but now that he has her attention, he inclines his head to his still mortified young doppelganger. Lord, he’d been a drama llama.

And he isn’t interested in waiting for young Soul to rejoin. He grabs Maka by her waist, spinning her around to pull her ass into his lap so he can taste her neck. She’s wet, swollen, and he has a need. Besides, this way he can bury his face into her neck, and she can make out with _him--_ if and when he ever gets over himself.

Lifting her only enough so he can position himself at her entrance, he sucks in a breath as she sinks down and surrounds all of his senses. It feels a little like time travel-- so present that all of his cells are vibrating into the veil of the ether. 

Her hips rock in his lap and he’s so deep, he isn’t sure he’s even on this plane of reality anymore. It’s easier to press his forehead into the nape of her neck and hold onto her hips in an attempt to keep the madness at bay. 

Maka shudders in his arms, back arched as one hand seeks out his hair. When Soul does open his eyes, he isn’t surprised to see his younger ass is finally out of bed kneeling between her legs and Maka’s other hand is resolutely sunk into _his_ hair, linking them through space and time. Can’t say that he blames himself -- he never has been able to resist eating her out. 

Jeezus fuck he has a long tongue. Soul trembles and grasps her hips even tighter, focusing on the feel of her in his arms. He’s going to leave bruises. 

He remembers her taste as he had made her squirm in his older self’s lap. He too knows he can make her come with a particular look as he licks her pussy. 

**_“Soul!”_ **

The ability to focus is ephemeral as she shudders and bows in his lap. “Fuck, Maka,” seems to be the only thing they can say, because there are no coherent thoughts. All there is is her, melded to their body, resonating with their soul. 

He knows he isn’t traveling, but it feels like he is connected to her, spanning his entire timeline. Past, present, and future-- interconnected until it proves too much for the continuum, which Maka detonates in a fracturing supernova, splitting him through space and time into everything that was and will be, leaving him wasted and spent. 

Collapsing backwards into the bed, laid low by his wife. His entire existence is vibrating at particle velocity. Lungs greedily sucking in air, heart hammering erratically, body continuing to shake. 

Rising from the ground, young Soul offers her a hand and Soul isn’t ready for the void she leaves in her wake as she walks away to the restroom. But he’s spent, so he just lays there in post coital bliss, completely drunk off Maka. Mind-altering definitely describes it. At least this time when he dematerializes he won’t have to worry about losing the shirt off his back. 

The bed shakes as his body collapses a foot away. “Fuck.” The cloud of self-depreciation hangs around the edges of apathy on his face. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he tells the ceiling. 

“Man, fuck you.” It’s hilarious that all of the expressions he has for the wide range of feelings he has come out in sound. He’s just embarrassed. “Easy for you to say, you just rocked her world.” 

Soul grins, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You did too…”

“Hey man, first time yet?”

He knows what he’s asking. And he snorts. “Nah.” 

“Fuck us.” Emphatic.

There they are, ghosts of Christmas Past and Christmas Present, fucking jealous of Christmas Future. “So not what you’d hope it’d be like?” The grin is audible and he peeks at his younger self. 

Neck flushed crimson is a telling sign. “No.” He turns his face to the far side of the room. And Soul turns his attention back to the ceiling as sand continues to count down his time. “You two have so much history… Felt, fuck I don’t know… intrusive.” 

“To watch?” 

Out of his peripheral, his head bobs. “Yeah.” They both take a few more deep breaths.

“Fuck the way she looks at _you_.” It’s hard to explain, even to himself, but it’s almost like-- he’s still new. Hasn’t hurt her, even unintentionally, like Soul has. 

They share a loaded look before they both say, “Hot though.”

The door of the bathroom opens and outlines Maka’s body in a flash of corona before she shuts off the light. “What’s so funny?” she asks. And now it feels like time has irrevocably shifted since she last asked. 

Both men prop themselves up-- “Woah,” Maka says as she crawls into the space between them where she fits seamlessly. “That was weird.” 

Twin Souls laugh. Soul doesn’t voice the fact that everything that’s just happened defines _that_ category, but his eyes feel heavy. Instead, he presses his face into Maka’s ribs, and hums.

On the other side of her warm body, he says, “I’m hungry, you want anything?” Soul feels rather than sees Maka shake her head; he gives thumbs-down, unwilling to make more words. “Suit yourself, I’m gonna raid the fridge. Does he still have that Butterfinger ice-cream stashed in the freezer?”

“Wait what?” Maka asks, and Soul wants to argue, but Maka’s fingers are scratching his head and he’s fading from this plane.

“Tsk.” Is all he says before he leaves the room as naked as when he came in. 

Soul wants to yell: “You’d better leave some for me!” But he’s not long for this time. And Maka is making it difficult. “Hey,” he whispers into her side.

“You’re going?” Her mouth kisses his shoulder and it rouses him. 

He can’t bring himself to face her expression, but he hums before he whispers, “I love you.” 

“I know you do.” It’s a soft caress. “You okay?” She means the fridge raider, not him. 

“Yeah, he’s fine, just embarrassed. Guess now you know why I never talked about it.”

Her lips keep pressing into his shoulder and when he peeks, there’s a tight-lipped smile attached even as she’s looking at him. “Makes sense.” Her soft laughter shakes him. “Is that what made you laugh earlier, on the balcony?”

Her astuteness is one of the qualities he loves best. His chuckle vibrates between them.

“Poor you,” she says kissing his shoulder. 

It starts at the furthest reaches of his body: his toes, his hair, and a strange music that fills his mind. He’s vibrating in the wrong frequency, unable to match her resonance -- the harmonic fading, screaming into anharmonic.

Maka sucks in a shocked breath. This isn’t the first time he’s fazed out of her embrace, and it isn’t the first time he isn’t ready to go. “Soul.” She is his lifeline. “I love y--”

“Hey Maks, I brought you a spoon--” He walks in to see her hunched over the place his body had occupied just seconds before. “Shit.” Depositing the ice cream and spoons on her chair, where it’ll leave the water ring on the suede, to wrap his arms around her. “Hey, hey.” There isn’t much he can do to stop her wracking sobs. “I’m here.” It’s all he can give her.

//

Materializing from the ether is a lot like coming out of a medically induced coma-- at least that’s what Soul thinks. He’s hit in the face with a bundle of Spirit Albarn’s old shit-- some Pearl Jam t-shirt and red skinny jeans. “Good to see you too, Maka.” Soul grumbles as he tries to get his bearings in time and space. “What, no socks?” he asks, addressing an empty horizon.

“Down here, pervert,” she yells. And his eyes find her sprawled out on her stomach on an old flannel blanket quilt, combat boots thrown aside, thighs pressed tightly together, feet rubbing together from where she’s buried nose deep in a book and flushing a deep crimson. 

Having just come from witnessing his caution first hand -- albeit third person omnipresent-- Soul gathers that he’s always cautious around this woman. Before he can even ask, she spits the date at him like she’s personally offended to have to say it. Has he hung out with seventeen year old Maka yet? “You smell like--” She starts, and then goes scarlet, cutting herself off and slamming the book shut before flipping it upside down.

“What were you reading?” 

“Nothing!” 

“So, I’m not the only pervert,” he surmises, and experiencing first hand the things he knows she’s capable of, he leaves it at just that and stretches his body out on the flannel blanket. He’s exhausted. The afternoon sun feels warm on his skin. 

“I-- I am not.” 

He stares at her, the freckles he loves so much tinting a soft shade of pink. “I was teasing. Imma take a nap.” He tucks his head onto his arms. 

They don’t need to say anything -- just being around her is enough. When her hand tentatively reaches out and starts scratching his head, he almost feels as if he could purr. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Look-- I read The Time Traveler's Wife a long time ago. I always felt that Ms. Niffenegger sort of skirted around this topic given the source material. Also special thanks to my betas!!!


End file.
